by Skye Knizley
“Hi Ray,” Bobbi said.
“Hey Bobbi. King, what happened?”
Abraham King turned from his computer. “I don’t know. I lost contact with the team on their way to the engine room. How is your connection with Aspen?”
“Dead. Like you, if anything has happened to her. Get me on that ship!”
King shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, Raven. I am scheduling an air-strike as we speak.”
“The hell you are!” Raven roared. “You put my fiancé on that boat, you are not just abandoning her!”
“There is more than one life at stake, Ravenel. Whatever is on that ship has killed almost a thousand people. It cannot be allowed to make it to New York.”
“How long?”
“Twenty-six hours at current speed,” King replied.
Raven nodded. “Fine. Get the Airforce to drop me on the ship. If I don’t succeed, you can blow us both to hell.”
“Agent Storm, I have already lost ten good people—”
Raven tossed her badge on his desk. “You don’t know Aspen and her team are gone. You lost contact. I know she is out there and I am going to bring her home, or die trying. My Sig is in my desk.”
She turned and found the door blocked by Bobbi.
“I can’t let you go, Raven. Not like this,” Bobbi said.
“Bobbi, if you don’t move, I will move you,” Raven said.
“Let her go, Agent Kinnamon. Agent Storm, you are on your own, I cannot expend anymore assets on this. The best I can give you is sixteen hours until I report you officially missing and that ship a hostile target. Tomorrow at dawn, F-18’s will burn it to ashes.”
Raven looked back at him. “It’s enough. If I haven’t found her by then, she’s dead anyway.”
Bobbi stepped aside, but caught Raven’s arm on the way by. “Want me to go with you?”
Raven shook her head. “No. If we don’t make it back, King is going to need someone who isn’t an asshole on his team.”
Bobbi smiled. “I’ll take that as a complement. Good luck, Ray.”
Raven nodded and Bobbi let go.
“One more thing, Storm,” King said.
Raven looked back at him and he tossed her badge to her. “Next time you hand that to me, I’m keeping it.”
She slipped the badge into her pocket. “If I give it to you, it’s because I don’t need it. I’ll be in touch.”
Outside, she leaned against the side of the Shelby and stared at the number on her phone. She didn’t want to dial it, but she didn’t have a choice. If anyone could get her on that ship, it was Francois. She pressed the dial button and held the phone to her ear. Two rings later, a masculine voice answered.
“Lord Du Guerre’s residence, this is Sterling.”
“Get him,” Raven said.
There was a pause. “Fürstin Ravenel? It is good to hear your voice. The master is sleeping, may I take a message?”
“He’s not in hibernation. Wake his ass, now!”
“Fürstin, the master will be angry if—”
“Sterling, tell him it’s me, tell him I need help and get his ass on the phone!”
“Very well, madam.”
Raven heard him put the phone down and shuffle off. She tapped her nails on the Shelby and waited, part of her brain ticking off the seconds. Her nails were making scratches in the car’s paint by the time Du Guerre’s voice came on.
“Ravenel, what is wrong?”
“I need to get from Seattle to a ship in the North Atlantic in as short a time as possible,” Raven said. “What can you do?”
There was a pause, then, “I can get you on a flight leaving whenever you wish, I still have a private service. They will bring you to New Jersey and a helicopter will take you the rest of the way. Ravenel, what has happened?”
Raven bit her lip. She had to tell him something or he wouldn’t cooperate. “My fiancé is in trouble and I am going to her.”
Raven could hear concern in his voice and it annoyed her. “Aspen? Your familiar? Is she alright, Ravenel? I can have a medical team standing by when you arrive in New York.”
“Of course she isn’t okay, I can’t feel her. I’ll need something I can jump out of to get me offshore, a helicopter or something, and full SRT gear, can you do that?” Raven asked.
She heard the swish of Du Guerre’s hair on the phone and felt the sensation of his power, even through the connection. “I will have a helicopter and gear waiting for you. Sterling is contacting the airfield as we speak. It is still a four hour flight, is there anything I can do in the meantime?”
“Drop the Dracula mind whammy, Du Guerre, it won’t work. I’ll call you when I am in Jersey.”
She ended the call on Du Guerre’s objection and headed to the airport.
Please, Aspen, be okay.
II
Chicago, Silver Gates Home for Retirees, 11:00 a.m.
Silver Gates had, in its heyday, been a home for the city’s prominent retirees. It boasted a sprawling mansion with more than six floors and two hundred small apartments. On the grounds were three swimming pools, nine holes of golf and a garden lush with hardy exotic plants. Much of that had been sold off in the last fifty years leaving nothing but the home itself and a few acres of surrounding vegetation. Levac shaded his eyes and looked up at the house with a sense of dread. It may have once been beautiful, but it now looked dilapidated and sad, with peeling paint and broken shutters that swung in the breeze.
“When I get put out to pasture I hope I fair better than this,” he said.
“Like any of us is going to die of natural causes, Rupert,” Sable said.
Levac shrugged. “I have high hopes. You and your sister keep shortening my lifespan, but I take plenty of vitamins and drink milk.”
Sable smiled. “Milk may do a body good, but it doesn’t stop bullets or claws. I hope you have more than vitamin D under your shirt.”
Levac pulled the door open. “Of course. Hair, scars, nipples, all God’s kids have nipples, you know.”
Sable laughed. “I see what my sis liked about you. You’re funny.”
Levac shrugged. “I think being funny is why she didn’t pull my head off in the first week.”
“She didn’t like you?” Sable asked.
Levac shrugged. “She made me so nervous I was a bit off the first time she met me. My flirting attempts were more like a drooling teenage boy than me.”
They passed through the doors into a large lobby that also doubled as a recreation area. All around were half-played games of checkers, cards and chess, an upright piano sat unplayed in the corner and a wide-screen television was showing an old golf tournament. A middle-aged woman in scrubs sat behind a long desk giving all appearances that she was working on the computer. Which likely meant she was playing solitaire.
Sable leaned on the counter and held up her badge. “Agents Tempeste and Levac, we’re looking for Brian Sandoval.”
“Mr. Sandoval isn’t seeing visitors,” the woman said without looking up.
Sable pocketed her badge. “I wasn’t asking for permission, just point the way.”
The woman looked up. “Who did you say you were, again?”
Levac stepped up. “Levac and Tempeste, FBI. Which way, please?”
He smiled encouragingly.
“He really isn’t good with visitors, but he’s on the second floor, room nine at the end of the hall.”
“Thank you,” Levac said.
He turned toward the stairs and could feel Sable walking up behind him.
“Are people in Chicago always this annoying?” Sable asked.
Levac didn’t look at her. “They are just people, Agent Tempeste. Have you done many investigations like this before?”
“No. Mostly seek and destroy. Dad does the criminal stuff, it bores
me,” Sable said.
Levac stopped at the top of the sweeping stairs. “Then why are you here now?”
“The old fart is taking his sweet time healing after sis shot him and she’s been sidelined with her touchy-feely crap,” Sable said. “Somebody has to do the leg work.”
For once, Levac knew what Raven meant about fighting her monster. “You may have ice-water in your veins, Sable, but Raven is human. She shot her father and took it hard. Most people would.”
Sable shrugged. “Never bothered me, before.”
Levac turned away. “I did refer to people.”
He felt Sable’s hand clamp around his arm and he stopped.
“What did you just say?” Sable asked.
Levac knew what he would see when he turned. For once, he tugged on the string connecting him to Raven and let her power flow through him. It felt warm, like an old blanket.
“You heard me, Sable,” he said. “This isn’t going to be a pissing contest. Raven is my partner, my friend and I am her familiar. You will treat her with respect.”
Sable’s eyes were full of fury and anger for a moment longer, then softened. “I’m impressed, Rupert. Not many humans would stand up to someone like me.”
Levac’s gaze didn’t flinch. He could feel Raven like she was standing over his shoulder. “When you’ve been Raven Storm’s partner, not much frightens you, least of all someone who looks just like her. Are we good?”
Sable smiled. “Yeah. I’m kind of glad you stood up for her.” She brushed past him and continued down the hall. “Sis could use a good friend.”
Levac nodded and followed after Sable. At the end of the hall she spun. If Levac hadn’t been connected to Raven, he wouldn’t have seen it. He caught her hand inches from his nose.
“Don’t make a habit of fighting me, though. Dad’s temper runs in the family,” Sable growled.
“So I see. Maybe we can get you all a table at IHOP.”
Sable blinked and she looked confused. “What?”
Levac let go of her hand and shrugged. “It’s where I go when I’m angry. Fresh and Fruity solves everything.”
“You are a strange man, Rupert,” Sable said.
Levac walked past her, his hand in a fist so it wouldn’t shake. “That’s what Raven keeps telling me.”
He knocked on Sandoval’s door and waited, rocking on his toes. Sable leaned against the wall next to him. He could feel her staring at his ear. The door opened a moment later and a young man looked out. He most definitely wasn’t Brian Sandoval.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
Levac flashed his credentials. “FBI, we would like to talk to Mr. Sandoval.”
“He doesn’t usually see visitors—”
“Enough!” Sable growled.
She pushed past Levac and shoved the door open. “Move! What part of FBI didn’t you understand?”
The young man, who was dressed as an orderly and had brown hair that flopped over one eye, fell back onto his butt, a look of astonishment on his face.
“You can’t just come in here, you need a writ or warrant or something! I watch television!” he said.
Sable picked him up by his shirt. “Where is Sandoval?”
Levac put his hand on her arm. “Put him down, Agent Tempeste! This isn’t how we do things!”
She glared at him, but let the young man go. He straightened his shirt and pulled himself to his full height, which wasn’t impressive.
“That was uncalled for, I am just trying to protect my client!”
Levac raised his hands. “I know, and I’m sorry, my partner is having a rough morning. Can we speak with Mr. Sandoval, please?”
“He’s in the back.”
The orderly turned and led them through the small apartment to the back room, which looked more lived in than the rest, with artwork dating back to the 1940s. The television, though an old tube-style unit, was in perfect working order and softly playing a Clark Gable movie. Beside it was a queen-sized bed, neatly made with Marine corners and a bedstand with what looked like a funeral urn on top.
Sandoval sat in a wheelchair dressed in a blue shirt and dark slacks. He was looking out at the city beyond when Levac entered.
“Mr. Sandoval,” the orderly said. “These are agents Levac and Tempeste, here to see you.”
Sandoval turned. His face was clean-shaven and hard, with steel eyes that peered out from beneath heavy brows. He didn’t look like a man in his nineties. “I don’t take visitors.”
“Mr. Sandoval, my name is Rupert Levac, I’m with the FBI. This is Sable Tempeste—”
“You don’t look like any FBI suit I ever saw. Especially the woman. What kind of name is Sable?” Sandoval groused.
“It’s an old Scottish name, meaning black,” Sable said. “What kind of name is Brian?”
Sandoval glanced at her. “A strong one.”
He looked back at Levac. “What do you want?”
“We’re here about the Saylor case you worked on in 1939, we have a few questions.”
“Damn, boy, that was seventy five years ago!” Sandoval said.
Levac nodded and pulled out his notepad. “I understand that, sir. But the murder is unsolved and the case has been reopened.”
Sandoval looked back out the window. “I was just a wet behind the ears kid, only got promoted because half the force enlisted. I couldn’t, not with a bum ticker.”
“Mr. Sandoval, what can you tell us about the case? You were at the crime scene within hours of the kill,” Sable said.
“It wasn’t a suicide. They made us treat it like one, but it wasn’t. Nobody offs himself by opening his throat and spraying the wall with blood. Biggest mess I saw till 1946. Now that was a case. I was partnered with Storm back then.”
Levac blinked. “Storm?”
Sandoval nodded. “Yeah. Old ‘Big Mack’ Storm. Killed in a car wreck back in the ‘60s. What did you want again?”
“The Saylor case,” Sable said. “Come on, old man, just tell us what you know!”
Levac made a face. “Agent Tempeste, can I have a moment?”
He took her elbow and pulled her aside. “That isn’t how this is done, okay? Just let me do this. You stand there looking all menacing and I will ask the questions.”
“He knows something, Rupert, he’s wasting time,” Sable said.
Levac rolled his eyes. “Of course he knows something, and we need to know and we aren’t hauling a geriatric into interrogation. So let me do this, please?”
“Fine. But make it quick or I’m going to start snapping his gnarly old fingers,” Sable replied.
Levac had no doubt she would. She might have Raven’s face and voice, but she wasn’t Raven. “Just, wait outside, okay?”
Sable frowned, but nodded and turned to the exit. Levac waited until she was in the next room then looked back at Sandoval.
“I’m sorry about that, sir.”
Sandoval frowned. “New partner?”
Levac shook his head. “Temporary. My partner, Raven, is on medical leave.”
A shadow of something crossed Sandoval’s face. “Raven…good name, boy. It means black, too. Two partners named Black?”
Now it was Levac’s turn to frown. He hadn’t thought of that. But he shrugged it off and licked his pencil. “They’re twin sisters. Now, can you tell me if you and your partner found anything odd? Anything you didn’t let the public know or that isn’t in the file?”
“We didn’t report a lot. No one would have believed us. It was in the file originally, but old Captain Jenkins took it out and burned it, photos and all,” Sandoval said.
“Like what?”
“The satanic nonsense,” Sandoval said. “Blood, skulls, things painted on the walls, it was everywhere. But with the Nazi’s being the boogey man of the day, we hushed
it up.”
He turned his wheelchair and pointed at a lockbox beneath the bed. “Pull that out.”
Levac dragged the box out and set it on a table near a Sandoval. Sandoval pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the box.
“The file is at the bottom, copies of all my sketches, everything I salvaged and could remember,” he said.
Levac dug through decades of memorabilia and pulled out a file thick with yellowing papers. He pulled the rotting rubber band holding it together and flipped through. There were old black and white photos of the office, sketches of the body and crime scene and diagrams of the ‘satanic’ items that Sandoval had mentioned. Levac recognized skulls and some of the occult symbols on the wall, but not all.
“What do you think happened?” he asked.
Sandoval’s face hardened again. “You want the honest truth, Agent Levac?”
Levac turned. “I do.”
“I think the dumb son of a bitch called something, and it killed him. Took his soul right out of his body,” Sandoval said.
“Why do you say that?”
Sandoval leaned forward in his chair. “I’m too old to lie, Agent Levac. The man was cold. I don’t mean corpse cold, I mean cold. You could feel it coming off of him, and his eyes were all white, like snowballs in his head.”
He tapped his knee for emphasis. “That man had no soul.”
He leaned back and looked old, much older than he had when Levac entered.
“Thank you, Detective. May I take this?” Levac asked.
Sandoval nodded. “Take it, I don’t want it anymore.”
Levac snapped the band in place and fished a business card out of his pocket. He offered the wrinkled slip of paper to Sandoval.
“If you think of anything or need anything, please feel free to call, night or day.”
Sandoval took it and ran a thumb over the logo. “Section Thirteen. I’ll be damned.”
Levac nodded.
Sandoval closed his eyes. “I need to rest. Come back tomorrow if you still have questions.”
“Thank you again, Detective.”
Levac turned away moved toward the next room. He paused and looked back. “One more thing, Detective. What was Big Mack’s name? His real name?”